“Talking Shop,” or “I’m a writer, too!”

I always get really excited when I find out someone writes. The second they let that fact slip, I’m gazing at them, trying to detect a flicker of kinship in their face, vibrating with the possibility that I’ve found another one! Writing, particularly in the early days, is a relatively solitary endeavour. Paradoxically, or perhaps consequentially, it’s also an endeavour with a huge sense of community. I haven’t personally met most of the writers I “know.” Mostly, they’ve been online acquaintances. (Hi, guys!)

So when I meet someone in “real life” who professes to be a writer, I get excited. It’s kind of like when a dog hears footsteps approaching the door at the end of the workday. People! Interaction! End of solitude! Happy!

It’s comforting to know that someone else is dealing or has dealt with the same issues. And it’s nice to have someone who understands about problems with characterization, or how to balance different subplots, or what to do about that bit of foreshadowing that really can’t come any later, but seems a tad obvious where it is.

It’s community. It’s inspiration. It’s our “tribe.”

I wish it worked out this way every time.

Sometimes, the exchange goes something like this:

Person: Yeah, I’m a writer too.

Me: Cool! What do you write?

Person: Well, I haven’t actually written anything. I have an idea for a bestseller, I’m just waiting for inspiration. What about you?

Me: Um, I’ve dabbled in a bunch of things, but I seem to be having the best luck with science fiction and fantasy.

Person: Oh. (Snorts)

Then I feel like this:

One of the first things I learned was “Writers are people who write.” You cannot be a writer if you do not actually write, whether you’re typing, writing by hand, or even dictating. Words have to get onto screen/paper somehow. The “waiting for inspiration” excuse doesn’t cut it. Inspiration is great, and it’s a good idea to try to seek it out (for instance, by talking to other writers…) but you can’t count on the Muse alone. I think of writing as a marathon. Endorphins ebb and flow, your legs get tired, they go numb, you scarf a package of some high-glucose-protein gel once or twice, you curse everything and everyone for putting you in this situation… but you keep going.

One word at a time. One step at a time.

If you watch the marathon on TV, maybe lace up your running shoes but never make it out the door, can you call yourself a runner? No, that’d just be silly. You can say you’d like to run. You can say you’re planning on taking up running. But until you actually lift your foot up and take that first step, you’re not a runner.

It seems to me there’s a difference between wanting to write, and wanting to have a book. This is one of those times when the journey is more important than the destination. Almost all of us want to be published, but I have a hunch that if a magical psychic genie from the future appeared and told you it would never happen, you would write anyway. You would write because it brings you joy.

It’s the shared understanding of that joy that brings us together.

Cheers!

Arvik